Gwgan stood and stretched, too. ‘I am weary, too. But I have friends in the village, so will stay with them tonight. This tavern is too small for all of us, and I am tired of sharing a chamber with Sear and Alberic. They both snore.’
‘So does Leah,’ said Richard, overhearing. ‘Especially when she has taken her medicines. I will join you.’
As they opened the door to leave, Roger stepped inside, straightening his surcoat and pulling straw from his hair. Immediately, Bale aimed for the door, but Geoffrey was disinclined to stop him. If Cornald chose to be blind to his wife’s antics, then that was his affair.
‘I heard what Gwgan and Edward were telling you about Hywel,’ said Alberic, looking up from his dice. ‘It is true: he is a fine man.’
‘He is,’ agreed Sear. ‘He was awarded Rhydygors at the same time I was granted Pembroc, so we travelled to Westminster together. It gave us time to get to know each other. He is brave, as well as noble. Like me, he fought courageously on the Marches. You two were there, too, I understand.’
The implication was that Roger and Geoffrey had not performed well enough to have been rewarded. Roger immediately bristled, but Geoffrey laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
‘It is very warm in here,’ he said, to change the subject. ‘I am surprised you think it necessary to have such an enormous blaze, Master Fychan.’
Fychan glared at Hilde. ‘Yes, but, unfortunately, I have been told by visitors that a welcoming fire makes an important first impression. And I dare not disagree.’
‘That was because I was here in winter,’ said Hilde with a sigh. ‘And a dead hearth is not something a traveller wants to see when she arrives cold and wet.’
She and Fychan began to argue about the proper heights for fires at various times of year, and when Sear and Roger added their opinions, the conversation quickly grew acrimonious. Geoffrey did not join in. Now they were almost at their destination – Kermerdyn was no more than eight miles distant – he found himself pondering yet again about the tasks the King had set him. He let the angry voices wash over him, abrogating responsibility to Hilde to prevent spillages of blood.
Eventually, when he could stand the heat and the bickering no longer, Geoffrey rose, muttering about checking his destrier. He stood outside, breathing in deeply of the smoke-scented air, which carried with it a hint of frost in the offing as daylight faded to dusk. Then he went to the stable, reaching for his dagger when he saw two figures lurking in an empty stall.
‘Go inside, Bale,’ he ordered curtly, not liking to imagine what would have been said if it had been Cornald coming to look at the horses.
Head down so he would not have to meet his master’s eyes, Bale scuttled away. Pulchria was less easily intimidated, though.
‘You have no right to interfere,’ she hissed.
‘I have every right: Bale is my squire. But it is cold and dark out here, so I recommend you go inside, too. Doubtless your husband will be pleased to see you.’
He treated her hate-filled glower with the contempt it deserved, turning his back on her and giving his attention to his horse. A moment later, he heard her stamp towards the door. He spent a little while with the animal, rubbing its nose and checking its legs for signs of damage, but the raised voices from the inn were distracting. Craving silence, he walked towards the river.
The Tywi was wide and shallow, with golden stones littering its bottom and the occasional waving frond of green weed. It wound across a wide valley, much of which was cultivated, although he suspected it was prone to flood, when it would lose its gentleness and become a raging torrent. Two uprooted trees nearby indicated it probably happened frequently.
He thought about Roger’s contention that the attacks they had suffered since leaving Brechene were connected to the King’s letters. Roger had been concerned from the first ambush that the attack had concentrated on the knights, but Geoffrey had argued it was because their assailants wanted to eliminate the warriors before turning to the easier business of dealing with the women, servants, Cornald and Delwyn. But did Roger have a point?
Delwyn was sloppy in his care of Mabon’s coffin, and it would have been easy for thieves to make off with it at night, assuming – as Geoffrey believed – that they thought it was filled with treasure. Yet they had never bothered. Did it mean the ambushers were after something else? But, surely, no one could be interested in a letter to Wilfred about the transfer of property or an order telling Mabon to obey the Bishop, or in whatever was written in the missive to Sear?
Geoffrey sighed. More urgent was the fact that he was almost in Kermerdyn, and although he had spent weeks in company with people he suspected had killed William, Mabon and possibly Eudo, he was no nearer finding the truth. Soon they would part company, and he would never have answers for the King.
As he stared at the river, he became aware that one of the stones was an odd shape. He leaned down to retrieve it, plunging his arm up to the elbow in cold water. He was startled to find it was a small statue. He had seen similar ones in Italy, carved by the Romans, and he recalled Gwgan telling him that Romans had visited Kermerdyn and established a fort there. He gazed at the little sculpture, awed to be holding something that had been crafted hundreds of years before.
It was a pretty piece, and he recognized in it Aphrodite’s alluring beauty. It was made of marble, and when he rubbed it on his surcoat, the algae came off to reveal the white underneath. It was not very big, although too large to close his fingers around. He decided to keep it and present it to Hilde at some opportune moment. Perhaps this pagan charm would help her conceive, given that prayers in churches did not seem to be working.
He was about to return to the tavern when he saw Delwyn walking towards him. The monk was pulling uncomfortably at his habit, and his face was red. Geoffrey was not the only one who had found the room unpleasantly close.
‘Your return to Kermerdyn tomorrow will be tainted by sadness,’ said Geoffrey, thinking he had better remind Delwyn that he was sorry Mabon had died while a guest in his home. He did not want the abbey being told he did not care, so they could complain to the King about him. ‘I wish that we had brought his killer to justice.’
‘It would have been good to string the villain up,’ agreed Delwyn. ‘He condemned me to a miserable journey, because it has not been pleasant, toting a rotting corpse around.’
Geoffrey tried to conceal his distaste for the man’s selfishness. ‘It will be a sad homecoming, regardless of odours. I imagine Mabon was popular.’
‘Then you would be wrong. He was rather worldly, and most of my brethren will be delighted to learn he is no longer with us. Especially Ywain.’ Delwyn looked concerned. ‘I hope he does not think I killed Mabon.’
‘Why would he think that?’
‘Because I was always complaining about the fact that Mabon would insist on aggravating Wilfred. But he was wrong to annoy the Bishop – it is no way to ensure we are left alone.’
‘Left alone?’ asked Geoffrey, puzzled
‘Allowed to exist,’ elaborated Delwyn. ‘Without Normans coming along and trying to turn us into Benedictines or Cistercians. We are happy as we are, but Mabon’s belligerence was a danger.’
‘Will Ywain be less confrontational?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Delwyn bitterly. ‘He is no brash fool. But I would like to impress him anyway. Please give me the letter from the Archbishop, Sir Geoffrey. He will be much more kindly disposed towards me if he sees the King trusted me with it.’
‘I cannot,’ said Geoffrey shortly. He did not want yet another debate on the subject.
‘Do you have any more?’ asked Delwyn rather desperately. ‘You must have a missive for Hywel. He is the most important man in this region, after all. Give me the one for him.’